I have dreams of pandas, and things that are true,
I dream of sweet kisses and shoots of bamboo.

I dreamt of an artist,
Of her paints and pianist.
With his hands to the keys,
He plays their sweet reveries.

With each chord he broke her heart,
In each stroke she made he found a part
A piece of something almost lost,
Never touched by unfriendly frost.

Her colour stained hands kissed ivory keys,
She saw his laughter, a summer breeze.
He listened close, heard her smile,
One hundred notes in single file.

As the melody began to slow,
The painter stopped the brushes' flow.
When the pedals finally came to rest,
It was his cheek her hand caressed.

I dreamt of a pianist, and I dreamt of his painter.
They were artists, and I am a dreamer.